


Tea.  With a Bit of Honey

by Piplover



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 18:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11236770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piplover/pseuds/Piplover
Summary: There are many types of magic in the world, and not all of them involve hand motions and glowing lights.  Sometimes, Stephen learns, the greatest magic is a warm cup of tea and a friend who listens.





	Tea.  With a Bit of Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta, Heidi, for looking this over and pointing out my mistakes.

The first few days in Kamar-Taj were filled with dizzying scents and sounds. Unfamiliar herbs used in the cooking, hot tea which tingled warmly down his throat as he drank, and a bed more comfortable than the $10,000 mattress he had owned in New York. 

After Mordo had shown him to his room he had gratefully bathed away the dust and grime of long travel. His beard and hair had been washed as carefully as he could with his shaking hands, though he avoided too close an inspection in the small mirror above the sink.

He had, frustratingly, been exhausted after that. Much as he hated to admit it, his body was still healing. Seven surgeries may have repaired some of the damage, but the inflammation and pain still remained. May always remain, if he could not master the “magic” the Ancient One had shown him. 

He pondered all he had seen, what he had been shown, as the softness of the bed enveloped him, thick blankets warm and comforting on his aching body. He listened to the sounds of a city he didn’t know, wood smoke and incense a thick miasma in his room as sleep slowly pulled him under. He didn’t fight, welcoming its relief from pain and confusion until the morning light woke him the next day.

His first challenge, much to his chagrin, were the new clothes he had been given. They were soft to the touch, light for spring’s chill but warm enough in their layers. He had spent a good hour figuring out how to put everything on without looking like an idiot, struggling with the sash and ties before getting them right. Only once he was certain that everything was where it should be did he venture out of the room to find food.

One of the other students, dressed similarly in gray to himself, showed him the way to what appeared to be the center of the compound. She was tiny, in both height and figure, with black hair done in several elaborate braids wreathed around her head. She looked to be Nepalese, though he couldn’t be certain, and he wondered briefly if everyone in Kamar-Taj spoke English, or if there was some magic spell which made all languages understandable. That would certainly explain the apparent lack of miscommunication which should have resulted from so many cultures mixing in one place.

She had fallen into step beside him shortly after he had left his room, and through gestures and a few words had shown him the communal eatery. There were no benches or chairs, only padded cushions for those who chose to eat there, and bowls for rice and curry. Warm flatbread was still steaming in baskets, and there seemed to be a never ending supply of tea and fruits. 

He followed the woman’s example, loading his plate with a little of everything, and ate more than he thought he would, savoring the flavors and smells as he tried to watch those around him unobtrusively. After, she showed him where to wash his dishes, smiling all the time as though she found only pleasure in showing him these mundane tasks.

She showed him the library next, the scent of ancient parchment and ink greeting him like an old friend as they wandered through. Row after row of books beckoned him, though his guide did not let him explore, steering him instead through an ornately carved door which led to a training ground.

Students, dressed in the multiple colors and styles of their status, were arranged in pairs throughout the small area, practicing martial arts with varying degrees of skills. Their bodies moved gracefully in ways Stephen could only admire, the flex of muscle and bone a dance he couldn‘t quite decipher. 

They lingered for a while until a natural break in the class occurred, then moved on to finish the tour. 

As mid-day approached they went back to the eatery, where rice, dumplings and steamed vegetables were eaten. He and his unnamed guide drank tea quietly together before washing their dishes and heading out into the hazy courtyard. 

“My name is Amodini. If you have questions or concerns, you may find me in the library until dinner. Feel free to wander, though please be mindful of others doing work.”

It was the longest thing she had said to him all morning, and he found himself nodding at her retreating back before he could respond. He stood for a few minutes in the sunshine, pondering his choices, before he made his way slowly back to his room. 

He was not normally a shy man, but the exhaustion of his trip, his uncertainty and the newness of all around him had him craving solitude. He did not know how to meditate, but he found sleeping the afternoon away worked perfectly well. 

***

He worked and studied as hard as he ever had at med school, pushing himself and his abilities until he felt wound tighter than a coiled spring.

“You have not been meditating,” Mordo observed one afternoon as Stephen wove his hands in unfamiliar patterns, sparks trailing after his fingers in erratic fits. 

“I can’t get my mind to shut up,” he admitted, sighing as he finished the movement and allowed his arms to fall by his sides. “I try to empty my mind and a thousand other thoughts crowd in.”

Mordo nodded, lips pursed as he appeared to give the matter some thought. He moved around the doctor easily, controlled and precise, before he said, “I, too, have trouble sometimes. Perhaps simply concentrate on your breathing, rather than try to quiet your thoughts. Now, again.”

Stephen began the pattern again, his fingers protesting as he forced them into movements which stretched scarred muscles. The pain was becoming as familiar as the patterns themselves. 

***  
He had been at Kamar-Taj a little over two months when a sudden downpour had him seeking shelter in one of the tea rooms. He shook water out of his freshly cut hair and off the maroon tunic he was still adjusting to, shivering slightly in the damp. 

His hands ached and throbbed with the chill in the air, and the thought of a warm cup of tea actually sounded really good. He made his way further inside the room, unsurprised to find a master sitting at one of the small benches.

“Please, sit,” she beckoned when she saw him peek around the doorway. “Cold days like this require a good cuppa.”

Her accent was decidedly English, though her robes were the same style and deep blue of other masters he had seen. Her hair was cut short, just above her ears, and silvered completely. Lines crinkled the corners of her eyes and mouth, though her cheeks were rosy and slightly plump. 

“I’m Master Evangeline,” she introduced herself, holding out her hand.

Stephan took it automatically, and it was only as his hand closed around hers that he realized her fingers were crookedly misshapen with arthritis. He did his best not to stare, though the strength of her grip astounded him. The part of his brain which had been accustomed to diagnosing and treating wondered at her dexterity. 

She laughed at the look on his face.

“Sorry,” he said, fighting the urge to say something inane, like, “ _Damnit, I’m a doctor, not a magician! Of course I‘m going to notice things like bone ailments!_ ” Instead, he simply offered, “I’m Stephen Strange.”

“Pleased to meet you, Stephen. Have a seat.” Evangeline motioned with her other hand, which was also misshapen. She followed his gaze and sighed. “Yes, terribly inconvenient when wanting to flip someone the bird.”

A laugh burst out of him before he could stop himself, and Stephen felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. He sat opposite Evangeline and watched as she easily poured tea for the two of them, navigating the earthenware kettle gracefully despite the state of her hands. 

They drank their tea in comfortable silence, listening to the rain pour down. There were several cozy fires throughout the room, and Stephen felt more of his tension leave as he wrapped his shaking hands around his cup, letting the warmth ease some of his pain. 

They spent much of the afternoon sitting together, Evangeline asking about his studies and answering his questions easily. He found her no-nonsense, non-mystical way of speaking refreshing, and wondered why he had never seen her before. 

“I do hope we get to do this again, Stephen,” she murmured as they both stood. The rain had calmed to a faint drizzle, and evening meal was approaching. 

“I would enjoy that,” Stephen agreed. 

He watched as she made her way towards the Ancient One’s receiving chamber before turning his mind once more to his own business. 

***

He did not see Evangeline again for several weeks, though he was studying diligently and hardly noticed the passage of time. He was finding it easier and easier to manipulate his hands and call the magic to his fingers, even if he still struggled with meditation and letting his mind rest. 

He had never been one to sit idle and let his mind wander, as Wong would no doubt attest.

It was as he was leaving the library, arms loaded down with a new set of books said librarian had gleefully stacked for him, that he recognized the form of Master Evangeline walking gracefully through the courtyard. 

“Hello,” he called to her, and she returned his smile with one of her own, changing her course so she could greet him properly.

“Hello, Stephen. Would you like some help?” she asked, humor coloring her words as she examined his reading material with a cock of her head. “Goodness, you must have really pissed him off!”

Once again Stephen found himself laughing at her straight forward manner, and said, “Yes, please.” He waited for her to take the top three books before he continued. “There may have been a little instance of a small portal in the library.”

“Hmmm,” she replied, mouth quirked as she followed his lead. “And how has your training been going, illegal portals notwithstanding?”

He smiled at her, steering them towards one of the small tea rooms. 

“I think I’m progressing wonderfully.”

“And your teachers? What do they think?” 

“That I’m a model student who’s eager to pick their brains for all the knowledge they’re willing to give me.”

“In other words, you’re a pain in the ass who thinks he knows better?” The words were playful, despite the small bite to them, and Stephen took the rebuke in good form.

“I suppose I’m a bit impatient to get to the point where I want to be,” he admitted. 

He waited for the master to sit before setting his books in a neat pile by her side and then retrieving a kettle and cups. 

Preparing the tea was one of the few tasks he had learned to savor - a pause from his quest to get his hands back as quickly as possible. A good cup of tea could not be rushed, and he had found a liking for the local blend. The small bit of effort and patience was well worth it. 

Back in New York, he reflected as he poured boiling water over the leaves in the kettle, he had never been a tea drinker. Coffee was the lifeblood of surgeons, and wine was his preferred drink to relax with. 

But here, in this small world unto itself, a strong cup of hot tea had become both comfort and social activity. Like most of the students, his time consisted mainly of studying and training, but there were evenings spent in tea rooms and private rooms, enjoying the comfort of good food, tea, and the local gossip. 

Kamar-Taj did not live in a vacuum, and expeditions to the outside world for fresh food, flowers and tea had become a rare vacation, eagerly looked forward to both for the chance to speak with others and to indulge in small luxuries. 

The tea steeping now was one such luxury, introduced to him by Mordo on one of his early expeditions. It was he who had shown Stephen how to properly prepare the tea, using the time it took to brew the leaves to start their tentative friendship. 

Now, Stephen poured a cup for Evangeline, the scent wafting from her cup in a fragrant cloud of steam. She waited until they were both served before adding honey, then sipped appreciatively. 

“You look tired, Stephen,” she finally said, when the first round of tea had been drunk in companionable silence. 

He bowed his head, taking the last sip from his cup as he tried to form a reply that wasn’t sarcastic or biting. 

“I’ve been studying very hard,” he finally said, watching as the master’s crooked hands poured more tea for them both. 

“And resting? Have you been meditating?”

“I don’t think I’m quite cut out for it,” he finally said quietly, trying to smile ruefully at her quirked eyebrow. “Getting my mind to still is pretty much impossible.”

She raised her other brow, then slowly glanced around the room meaningfully. “Many things in this life are impossible, until they aren’t. Perhaps you have simply not found the correct method. Not everyone can find peace in inaction.”

She paused, took an appreciative sip, and then set the cup aside. Turning slightly, she motioned with her hands, effortless and graceful gestures which belied her disability. A moment later she reached through the small portal she had formed, retrieving a floral carpet bag that Mary Poppins would have been proud to carry. 

“Not a word,” she warned as she absently dismissed the portal, opening the bag to reveal a myriad of colorful yarn. “Here we go!”

She pulled out a crochet hook with a large wooden handle attached, smiling triumphantly as she passed it over. 

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow as he accepted the hook, eyeing it suspiciously. 

“You want me to knit?” he finally asked when no further explanation was given.

“No, I want you to crochet!” she corrected, smiling at his continued confusion. “Not all meditation is sitting around chanting. I find that when I crochet it sooths my mind and lets me reach the calm I seek.” 

“But -” Stephen stopped his complaint before he could utter it, eyeing Evangeline’s hands and then his own.

“It takes practice, like anything else in this world,” she encouraged. “Now finish your tea and I’ll teach you how to chain.”

***

Master Evangeline was not in Kamar-Taj very frequently. Every few weeks she would appear, usually as Stephen was leaving the library, and the two of them would sit and have tea before another crocheting lesson.

“How?” Stephen had demanded at their first lesson, glaring at his wobbly line of yarn and then Evangeline. “How do you stop it from doing - doing _this_?” Her laughter had been bright and knowing.

At the next lesson, with his lines straight and uniform, she showed him how to add more yarn to a work in progress without disturbing the appearance, and the lesson after how to add a color.

For all that the practice was simple and repetitive, Stephen did find a strange sense of peace as he worked. Though his hands ached when overused, and twitched and trembled around the wooden handle constantly, he found he was more centered and calm after spending even a few minutes working on his projects. 

“What do I do with it?” he asked when he next saw the master, holding up a blanket that was only slightly crooked, with three varying colors and a border. 

“I give them to the poor,” Evangeline said, admiring his work. She held up her own blanket, the patterns far more intricate than anything he could imagine doing, and gestured with her right hand. Light settled over the yarn, then into it, infusing the very fibers with their brilliance. “There, a bit of water repellant and warmth for the cold nights.”

Stephen frowned, then tried to mimic the gesture and spell she had cast. A moment later, the blanket caught fire. 

A student in grey sitting nearby let out a shocked cry, then grabbed the nearest pitcher of water and threw it in their general direction. Both Stephen and Evangeline gasped as they were drenched. 

A few wisps of smoke dissipated into the air as Evangeline pushed her bangs out of her eyes and stared at the ruined mess. 

“Perhaps… we should start a bit smaller,” she finally murmured. 

***

London had fallen. 

After Hong Kong, and Dormammu, and Mordo’s wrenching departure, this was the thought that came to Stephen as he surveyed the damage done to Kamar-Taj by London’s downfall. 

Wong stood beside him, eyes solemn as they watched trainees and masters fixing the damage to both people and building. 

“Master Evangeline?” Stephen finally whispered, afraid to hear the answer yet needing to know. 

Wong placed a gentle hand on Stephen’s shoulder, though he remained quiet. No other answer was necessary. 

“I think - I need to -” Stephen stuttered to a stop, suddenly as tired and drained as he had ever been in his life. 

“You should get clean and get some rest,” Wong instructed quietly. “There is a lot of work ahead of us, and you have much you still need to learn.”

Stephen nodded absently, his eyes drawn once more to the remnants of London’s door. A gentle tug from the cloak finally had him turning, away from the mess and curious eyes. Moving more from muscle memory than any conscious thought, he made his way to his small room. 

The cloak left his shoulders slowly, following him into his bathroom and hovering patiently as he showered. Blood, sweat and grime slowly washed away, the hot water mixing with the tears on his face, all swirling down the drain. 

He dried off slowly, then collapsed silently onto his bed, where exhaustion claimed him. 

***

The days and weeks following the battle with Kaecilius were filled with getting Kamar-Taj back up and running and trying to learn all he needed to know to be the Sorcerer Supreme. He found himself tempted to start another time loop, just so he could have more hours in the day. Only Wong’s glower had prevented him from even mentioning that desire. 

Slowly, things began to settle, and the move from his simple room to the house on Bleeker Street went smoothly. Christine came by to see his new home, and tentatively they were starting to rebuild their friendship. Only time would tell if it would blossom once more into something else. 

In his bedroom, Stephen kept a floral carpet bag, filled with colorful skeins of yarn and a crochet hook with an overlarge handle. In the evenings he would sit by a window and pick which landscape he wished to meditate to. Then he would allow his hands to work, creating blankets with deft fingers that still shook and trembled. 

Chain color change. 

Double stitch. Single stitch. Double stitch. His mind settled, his breathing slowed. In the morning, he would give the blanket to a homeless shelter. With barely a thought, light suffused the blanket, a promise of warmth and safety. 

There were, after all, many ways to save a life.


End file.
